Love Letters
by Cherusha
Summary: or, “A Series of Correspondences Between The Opera Ghost and The Vicomte de Chagny”. It's like a couple of teenagers took over their brains. Humor, Slash, Verbal Bitchslaps.


**Love Letters**

(or, "A Series of Correspondences Between The Opera Ghost and The Vicomte de Chagny")

_by Cherusha_

Classification: Humor, Slash, Verbal Bitchslaps

(I'm taking a break from all that angst!)

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* * *

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_To Monsieur Le Vicomte de Chagny_,

Do not fear for Miss Daae. I have her under my wing. Make no attempt to see her again. Oh, and she mentions herself that she doesn't want to see your nancy-boy, prancing self again anyways (and I can't say I blame her). I mean, "Little Lotte?" Honestly. What prat comes up with _that _kind of nickname? Go back to playing with the other little boys and leave the grownup stuff to the grownups. _I_ won't harm her, if that's what you're afraid of, so _SHOVE OFF, POUF!_

Have a NICE day,

_O.G._

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* * *

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_Dear Monsieur O.G._,

Like I would believe anything _you_ tell me, Mr. Crazy-Ugly-Stalker-Guy. Release Miss Daae at once before I discontinue your membership to the gentleman's guild, courtesy of my swordpoint! You are not fit to walk in her shadow, you with your bizarre, cape-swooshing ways. I spoke to Christine last week and she said you smell. Go take a bath.

With disdain,

_Le Vicomte de Chagny_

P.S. I think I shall have a nice day. My, the sun is just so BEAUTIFUL today.

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* * *

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_Dear Prancing Tart_,

That's manly sweat she smells, _merci_ you very much, not the vile aristocratic odor you stink up the air with. What do they call it? _Eau de wuss_? And ooh, threats of castration! Ooh, I'm so scared! Puh-leaze, I could beat you so badly your mamma wouldn't be able to pick you out from a line of very prissy-faced, nasty-smelling aristocrats. Christine just puts up with you because she pities you, Monsieur Fancy Pants! I am her Angel of Music™! You are what? Her childhood plaything. She tossed you away along with the rest of her toys when she became interested in Real Men.

My sincerest condolences,

_The Angel of Music™_

P.S. I may cape-swoosh but at least I don't look like I haven't outgrown my public school britches yet!

* * *

_Dear Angle of Musak™_, 

_Eau de good breeding_ is more like it! And _I'm_ her plaything? More like she is _YOUR_ plaything. We were childhood sweethearts for your information! Unlike you! Who are a stalker! In case you don't know, there's a big difference between Real Men (i.e. Me) and Mad Men (i.e. You). The only reason Christine hangs around with you is because you remind her of her father! Shall I call you Oedipus from now on?

Au revoir, Loser,

_Raoul, who is prettier than you_

P.S. Your opera sucks! I fell asleep in the middle of Act II.

* * *

_Dear Ignorant Oaf_, 

I'm well versed in my Greek literature; obviously you are not because your "insult" doesn't any sense. Perhaps you mean _YOU _are Oedipus, mamma-boy. _Or_ do you mean to say that Christine is Oedipus? In that case, monsieur, I think I shall have to challenge you to a duel to defend her honor. Good God, you're stupid, aren't you? No wonder she doesn't want to see you again.

Grow up,

_The Phantom, who is sexier_

P.S. You only fell asleep because your brain is too small to understand its musical genius. Plebe.

* * *

_Dear Oedipus_, 

No! It is you who are Oedipus. You! I know what I'm talking about, and that is you have an Oedipus Complex! I know 'cause I heard from this Austrian dude once, and he was way smarter than you! And if you think that cheap looking, white mask makes you look sexy then I would recommend that you go get your head examined by an exorcist because that's the only way you're going to get rid of the tiny demons blocking your sense of logic.

Drop dead,

_Raoul, who is saner_

P.S. I'd rather be a plebe than an elitist music nerd, Nerd.

* * *

_Dear Mr. Logic_, 

Look, it's been fun, but I'm afraid all this arguing with someone whose brain is half the size of a gnat's has gotten to be somewhat of a bore. I must start socializing with someone possessing at least a whit more intellect. My wall, for instance.

Bye Bore,

_Erik, who is bored_

P.S. You have stupid hair.

* * *

_Dear Underground Slime_, 

That you think the wall even _has_ an iota of intelligence only goes to show how sane _you_ are. And my hair happens to be in style with the latest Parisian fashions for men. But you wouldn't know that, would you, "unbalanced creature who lives in a hole in the ground." I'd invest in a pair of spectacles if I were you, before you go about sneering at _other people's_ appearances.

Bye Loon,

_The Vicomte_

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* * *

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_Dear Male Inadequacy_,

I bet you know _all _about these fine Parisian fashions. I bet you make up yourself nice and pretty – _doll_ it up real good. Is your hair really in style? Or is that just a good excuse. I do believe you like to wear it long for an entirely different reason. I wonder. Why haven't you made a move on Christine for all the time you've known her, hmmm? Is it just shyness, or—

Byeee,

_Erik the Magnificent Bastard_

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* * *

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LOOK, SWINE. YOU HAVE INSULTED ME FOR THE LAST TIME. YOU HAVE MADE VILE INSINUATIONS AGAINST MY LOOKS, MY INTELLECT, AND MY MANHOOD. THIS ENDS NOW.

YOU. ME. ROOFTOP. MIDNIGHT TONIGHT. BE THERE, OR ELSE!

R.

* * *

WELL, I WAS THERE TONIGHT. **WHERE WERE YOU?** IF YOU AREN'T A COMPLETE COWARD, MEET ME. SAME TIME, SAME PLACE. I'LL BE WAITING. 

R.

* * *

I WAITED FOR YOU AGAIN. ALL. NIGHT. LONG. IT WAS DAMN COLD ON THAT ROOFTOP TOO, YOU UNGRATEFUL SWINE. COWARD. ARE YOU A MAN OR NOT? YOU KNOW WHERE TO FIND ME. 

R.

* * *

I'm sorry. Did you say something? 

E.

* * *

OH, YOU MISERABLE BASTARD! I TAKE BACK EVERYTHING I SAID ABOUT YOU. YOU AREN'T A MONSTER. YOU'RE JUST A PATHETIC HUMAN BEING. AND HOW'S THIS FOR STARTERS. I'M GONNA WAIT ON THAT ROOFTOP TONIGHT. AND I'M GONNA WAIT THERE EVERY NIGHT UNTIL YOU'RE MAN ENOUGH TO SHOW UP AND UPHOLD YOUR HONOR. UNTIL THEN, YOU WON'T GET A MOMENT'S PEACE FROM ME. _GOT THAT!_

R.

* * *

_Dear Erik_, 

Enough with zis eenfantile fighting! Your Monsieur le Vicomte 'as been a-beetchin' an' a-moanin' to moi, now zat you 'ave stopped writing to 'im. Whut deed I do to deserve zis? I tell you, Erik, you must poot ah stop to zis one way or anoder, for I cannot take zis any longer. 'E can whine like nobody's beezniz. Even de most eexperienzed Parisians would be afraid.

Ah Queet!

_Madame Giry_

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* * *

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_Madame,_

Apologies for unwittingly entangling you into this horrid affair. But allow me to also express my deepest admiration to you for having continued as you did for so long. It is a wonder that you have not strangled him yet. I shall endeavor to resolve this situation as quickly as possible.

I remain your obedient servant,

_O.G._

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* * *

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_Dear Pain in the Ass,_

You seem to be under the impression that I will show up whenever and wherever you order me to. If _YOU_ are not a coward, meet me underneath the main opera stage at midnight.

Sincerely,

_Erik_

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* * *

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I'LL BE THERE, SCUM. BUT THIS TIME I'M ONLY WAITING FOR _HALF_ THE NIGHT!

R.

* * *

_Dear Messrs. Andre and Firmin_, 

I was just walking across the stage last night, checking this and that before going to bed, ye see, when I hears these strange noises coming from beneath the stage. Like someone was in pain. There was all sorts o' moanings and groanings and heavy pantings o' breath. Almost rhythmic like. I even hears cries of "Oh God!" couple of times.

So, "Is someone there?" I says. To see if someone needed help, but nobody answered and then everything got real quiet like. And I didn't move an inch and after awhile the moanings started up again. And I was scared to go down there by myself at this time o' night. The Opera Ghost might get me, see. I was scared for my life, I was.

But the thing is, when I went back down there with Mr. B after I had awoken him up to come with me, there was no one there. As if they had vanished into thin air! I had left for not fifteen minutes! I swears, sirs, it musta been ghosts that'd been causing the trouble.

So anyway, I just thought I'd let sirs know about it.

_Pierre_

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* * *

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_Dear M. Andre and M. Firmin_,

Ze Opera Ghost weeshes for me to inform you dat 'e will be taking a short twee-weeks leave from ze opera house. But 'e would like to make certain dat zis does not geeve you gentlemen free reign over 'is theater. I am to report to 'im all dat goes on in 'is leave, down to ze tiniest detail. Should anyding go wrong, you two are to answer for eet.

Sincerely,

_Madame Giry_

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* * *

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_Pierre_,

You are a tard.

_O.G._

* * *

_Dear Raoul_, 

It's me, Christine. I'm so sorry; you must have been worried sick. And indeed I was most worried too, when I found that my first note to you had been misdirected to the wrong address. Rest easy, now. I am fine. I have been staying with my Aunt in the countryside these last few weeks, as I needed to get away from the opera house and all its happenings for a little while at least. Do not worry for me. The country air does me great good. I was surprised that The Angel of Music let me go after I explained to him how I wanted to get away from it all. There now, Raoul, he's not so bad, is he? He is a very gifted man.

Yours,

_Christine_

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* * *

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_Dear Christine_,

Thank you.

_R._

P.S. Yes, he _is_ gifted.

* * *

-fin-


End file.
